


Their End May Know

by bigboobedcanuck



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Cancer, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season/Series 04, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-16
Updated: 2004-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 17:38:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigboobedcanuck/pseuds/bigboobedcanuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Brian Kinney does not do love.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>That’s for starry-eyed straights and dykes and silly faggots. Not for me. What has love ever gotten anyone? That’s what I’ve been telling myself for years. It’s all bullshit.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Right?</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Justin is on his hands and knees, cleaning up my puke. I had missed the toilet pretty spectacularly. It’s disgusting. There are chunks of the roast beef sandwich and fries that I’d defiantly had for lunch, despite the doctor’s warning to only have soup.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He doesn't even blink.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This series alternates first person POV between Brian and Justin. The titles are taken from Wordsworth's poems, including [Speak!](http://www.poetry-archive.com/w/speak.html), which I thought was appropriate for Brian. Spoilers for S4.

The glass of the shower door is cool against my back. My eyes are heavy, and I let them close. Sweat drips from my brow, and I think about peeling off my track pants and getting into the shower.

But that would require moving.

The doctor said that the treatment would make me nauseous; would make me sick. As if I wasn’t already sick enough having fucking cancer. I didn’t think it could get worse, didn’t think that was possible.

I want one of the bottles of water from the fridge, but it’s too far. So close, yet so, so far away. If only…no, not going there. He’s…no. Will not think about it.

I remember telling the doc that I’d be fine, that the radiation or whatever the fuck it was wouldn’t affect me like other people.

Brian Kinney does not vomit.

Vomiting is just about the most undignified act a human being can perform, and there’s plenty of competition for that title. I can drink most people under the table, and never end up hugging porcelain. Mikey’s the one who always wound up with his head out the car window like a dog.

A smile ghosts my lips at the memory of poor Michael upchucking all over the side of my father’s brand new Oldsmobile. I wasn’t going to clean it up afterwards, but he insisted, of course. I thought old Jack deserved the new look for his precious car.

Bastard.

I wonder if he felt like this when he was dying.

I wonder if he was scared.

I shiver and pull my knees to my chest, but my arms don’t want to move around them. I should really be a man and open my eyes and get the hell off the bathroom floor, but it feels like an insurmountable task.

Then suddenly there’s something wet and cool on my forehead. I realize belatedly that I had heard the sound of the tap turning on a few moments before.

“Brian, drink some water.”

My heart skips a beat and I feel a thrill of adrenalin course through me at the sound of his voice. I open my eyes, and Justin is kneeling before me. Wiping my face with the wet cloth, and holding an open bottle of water.

I don’t deserve this.

“Here. I’ll hold it, just drink.” He lifts the bottle up and I do as I’m told. The water feels like the finest whiskey as it slides down my throat.

“Not too much at once, it’ll make you sick again.” He puts the bottle down beside me. “Just rest for a minute.” He gets up, and all I want to do is pull him close, but I don’t have the energy.

***

Brian Kinney does not do love.

That’s for starry-eyed straights and dykes and silly faggots. Not for me. What has love ever gotten anyone? That’s what I’ve been telling myself for years. It’s all bullshit.

Right?

Justin is on his hands and knees, cleaning up my puke. I had missed the toilet pretty spectacularly. It’s disgusting. There are chunks of the roast beef sandwich and fries that I’d defiantly had for lunch, despite the doctor’s warning to only have soup.

He didn't even blink.

He’s just mopping it up methodically with paper towels. He isn’t cringing, or grimacing or even wrinkling his nose in distaste. He just wipes it up, matter of factly. This repulsive mess that I’ve made.

He turns to look at me. “Do you want more water now?” I just stare at him. “Hold on a sec,” he says, and turns back to my puke.

Like it’s nothing.

How can he be here? How can he have come back after what I said? How is it possible for him to still care?

He’s gotten the spray cleaner out from where the maid keeps it under the sink. He finishes cleaning up my vomit like it’s nothing more than spilt milk.

***

Brian Kinney does not cry.

Memories instantly rise up to prove me wrong, whispering and spreading their fingers wide over me. That old fucking asshole and his fists. A bowling ball disappearing into the mist. Blood soaking into concrete.

Justin finishes up and washes his hands. He turns to me and freezes. He was about to say something, but his jaw slowly drifts shut. He takes a few steps and sinks onto his knees, sits back on his heels.

He reaches out and wipes a tear from my cheek.

I grasp hold of his hand and try to speak, but my throat is raw. He gently pulls his hand free and lifts up the water bottle. I take a few sips. My voice is still hoarse, but the words finally come.

“I’m sorry.”

He tries to smile and I know what he’s going to say. I know exactly what he’s going to say. His voice is shaky. “Sorry’s—” I press my finger to his lips, cutting off the words I’ve said myself a thousand times. Time for new words.

“I love you.”

His eyes go wide, and for what seems like a goddamned eternity, he just stares. Then he takes a deep breath and leans in and kisses me. It’s slow and soft and he touches my face lightly. When he pulls away, his eyes are shining. I take his hand and weakly thread our fingers together. He squeezes tight and kisses me again.

As I part my lips, I know my breath tastes like puke – sour and stale. And I know he doesn’t care. And I know I’d do it for him. All of it.

Because that’s fucking love.


	2. Heard No More

I grab the orange juice and slam the refrigerator door shut with my other hand.

“Jesus, Brian, how many times do I have to say I don’t want to go out?”

He’s slumped on the couch, feet resting on the coffee table, head lolling back. He’s tired today. Although he’s tired every day, now. He’s still trying to keep up the same schedule at work, despite protests from just about everyone. Brian’s so goddamned stubborn sometimes.

“You haven’t been out all week.”

“And I don’t **want** to go out.” I chug some O.J. from the carton, because I know it bugs him. He curls his lip slightly and looks away. I put the juice back and return to the computer, where I’ve been checking out websites about cancer and alternative treatments. 

“You need to get fucked.”

I look up from the screen. “Excuse me?”

He’s watching me with a serious expression, no hint of ire or sarcasm. 

“I said, you need to get fucked.”

“Brian—”

“You need a nice, big cock up your ass. So go out and get it.”

I sigh loudly and roll back the desk chair. “Fine. You want me to go out and find some big, hot guy to stick it to me and make me squeal like a pig?”

“Yes.” His grave expression never wavers.

“Okay, you got it.” I get up, but not before I clear the history on the computer and close the net browser. I angrily shove my feet into my shoes. “If it’ll make you shut up about it, I’ll go fuck 10 guys.”

“Good,” he says, quietly.

I grab my jacket and slam out of the loft.

***

Babylon is busy, another endless array of sweaty, half-naked guys getting high and fucking and sucking and dancing under the blue lights. I stand up on the catwalk, unable to join them.

Unwilling.

He thinks he knows what I need, but sometimes I don’t think he knows shit. 

And sometimes he does.

***

I used to fantasize about what it would be like. When he finally said those three little words. I always imagined swelling music and still, lush silence, and glorious sunshine and stars sparkling – all at the same time. Happiness flowing through me like a balm.

But when it happened, I felt the most profound grief I’ve ever experienced. 

Because in that moment, I knew that Brian is going to die.

I mean, we’re all going to die, obviously. But in that instant, kneeling on the bathroom floor, surrounded by the stench of vomit, I knew that it might not be someday. That it could be soon. That it could be this.

And Brian knew it. And he was scared.

I felt like I was frozen for an eternity staring at his tearstained face. But inside, I was screaming, I was clawing, I was ripping apart that fucking disease with my bare hands. 

Then it passed, and I kissed him and held him and, yeah, I did feel that happiness I’d always imagined. I knew I’d never loved someone so much. And I know I’ll love him until the day I die. 

And I know he loves me.

I wasn’t lying, back when I told Michael that Brian had said me he loved me in a hundred different ways, and I just wasn’t listening. This is just one more way. And it means a fuck of a lot more than hearing “I love you” from Ethan a thousand times ever did. More than all the serenades and candlelight dinners and red roses in the world. 

Because I know he means it.

After he threw up again, I gave him more water and cleaned him up. I practically had to support his whole body as we walked the short distance to the bed, and he kept trying to grab onto things to steady himself, to lessen the weight on me. I tightened my grip and told him I wouldn’t let him fall. He stopped reaching out for the walls after that.

We laid intertwined in the darkness, our heads together on the pillow. He was asleep quickly, and I held him close until the dawn starting creeping in the windows. 

I didn’t cry until I was in the shower, Brian still sleeping soundly in our bed.

***

When I return, the loft is dark. But I know he’s not asleep – the air’s too thick with expectation. He’s on his back in bed, eyes closed. I shed my clothes and crawl in. I don’t touch him; just lie there, staring up at the ceiling.

“So, did you have fun?” 

I glance at him from the corner of my eye, and his eyes are open, looking up. “Yep.”

“Find some nice cock to fuck you?”

“Yep.”

“You’re lying.” His voice is resigned.

“Yep.”

We’re silent for a while, and then his hand slips into mine. 

“Justin, I don’t want you to go without. I can’t…I can’t give you what you need right now.”

“Brian, sometimes I think you lied about how good your GPA was in college, because you’re a pretty slow learner.” 

He huffs out a laugh that’s more like a sigh. After a moment, he rolls over and wraps himself around me, his mouth finding mine. I could kiss him all night, but I can feel his exhaustion and I break away gently. He settles into me, his face pressed into my neck, his hand flat on my chest. I cover it with my own, and he’s asleep in minutes.

*** 

Back when I was a silly little faggot, I thought that once he said it, he’d change somehow. Suddenly be writing me love sonnets and telling me in florid detail how I am the sun, his everything, his heart’s desire. 

I don’t quite manage to bite back a laugh, but Brian doesn’t stir. He’s fast asleep, his drool dampening the crease of my neck. I rub his back lightly, my fingers dancing over his skin. 

Brian’s never going to write me a sonnet, and he’s not going to start calling me “sweetie” or “darling” or “honeybun.” But that’s okay, because that’s not what I need. 

I guess we’re both slow learners.


	3. Their Way Pursue

As we enter Babylon, I can feel the bass all the way to my bones. I’m momentarily blinded by a strobe light and flakes of confetti rain down.

It’s been too long. Far too long.

Justin’s arm moves around my waist and I look down at him, the confetti glittering in his hair. I reach to brush it away, but instead let my arm fall around his shoulders. He didn’t want to come out tonight, but I haven’t had radiation since last week and this is the first day in a long time I haven’t felt like just collapsing into bed.

Feels like forever.

I half expect to see Michael and the Professor hanging out at the bar, Emmett holding court on the dance floor. But I know they’re all busy. Mikey said he can’t go out on a school night.

Jesus, we really are getting fucking old and responsible.

Justin and I order drinks from the hot bartender and lean against the bar, taking it all in. Justin’s hand finds its way to my lower back. He touches me almost all the time now, but I don’t think he realizes it. Like he wants to keep me grounded.

I remember endless nights under florescent lights, watching his restless sleep.

“Pretty good crowd for a Tuesday,” he says.

“Yeah, not bad.”

We sip our drinks and scope out the guys, analyzing them.

Justin says, “That one in the blue shirt? I bet he likes to call you ‘Daddy’ while you’re spanking him.”

I point to a muscle-bound ‘roid freak. “Big nelly bottom.”

Justin laughs. “Definitely. And that guy over there, by the speaker? He runs to confession every time he whacks off.”

“Yeah, then he blows the priest.”

“Brian!” He swats my arm, giggling.

“Come on, you know the score as well as I do.” I think of my mother’s beloved padre, and how I made him pant and beg for more. God, if only she knew the truth about that hypocrite. The thought of my mother is an unwelcome intrusion, and I wonder what she’d say, if she knew about it. The disease.

Fuck, I’m such a twat, I don’t even like thinking the word. Cancer. Fucking cancer, that’s what it is, Kinney. I gulp down more of my drink. She’d probably say that I deserved it. Penance for my many sins.

I finish my drink and pull Justin towards the floor. “Come on.”

He stands fast. “Brian, you shouldn’t overdo it.”

“Jesus, I can dance for a bit.” I tug hard on his hand and he reluctantly follows.

It feels good, sweating and writhing with hundreds of other people, everyone moving to the same beat. It feels…alive. I love watching Justin dance; he’s a natural. Everyone’s eyes tend to land on him when he’s dancing, but usually he’s oblivious, too lost in the rhythm. But tonight, he’s watching me.

After a couple of songs, my legs start to feel heavy again, and the bright lights are hurting my eyes. I rub them wearily and Justin’s arms move around me and his voice is in my ear. “Let’s go home.”

Christ, it’s what, 11:30? I’m not going home before midnight for fuck’s sake. “No, let’s just take a break.”

“Brian—”

“I want another drink.”

Worry creases his forehead, but he doesn’t resist as I head towards a couch. I sit down and realize how tired I really am. Shit.

“Brian…” He’s still standing, and I know he can tell. He brushes the hair back from my forehead.

“I’ll have a Chivas. None of that cheap shit.” No way I’m leaving before midnight.

He sighs. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” He moves across the dance floor to the bar.

A tall, lean trick walks by, cruising me. I look down at my feet. Not interested. When I glance back at Justin, he’s talking to someone. No, wait, he’s arguing with someone. Cute, short hair, practically buzzed…Cody. This must be Cody. He’s getting in Justin’s face, but Justin’s standing his ground. He’s a man, and he can fight his own battles.

Then Cody shoves him, hard, and I’m moving.

I push my way towards them and I can see Cody trying to egg him on, but Justin’s shaking his head. See, he can handle it. Then Cody shoves him again, and I’m there, grabbing Cody and spinning him around.

“Get the fuck away from him,” I spit.

Cody slaps my hands away. “This must be the boyfriend. Fuck off, old man.”

“No, you fuck off, Cody! I told you, it’s over. Find someone else to be angry and psychotic with,” Justin says, staring him down.

“You little pussy faggot, you really are just like them,” Cody yells, as he shoves Justin again.

Justin pushes him back and I yank Cody around again. This is the little prick who put a gun in Justin’s hand.

A fucking gun.

Justin could have ended up dead, or in jail, and it’s all because of Cody. All those days and nights of worrying rush back and I can feel his nose crunch beneath my fist as he staggers back.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his guns and fuck cancer and fuck my mother.

Before I know it, he tackles me to the sticky floor and the air rushes from my lungs. Justin grabs him by the throat and pulls him off me as Cody’s foot makes contact with my ribs.

Can’t breathe, can’t breathe…

Justin’s at my side and I see Cody being dragged out by the bouncers. I need to get up. Can’t stay on the floor at Babylon, everyone watching. Can’t let them see me like this.

Can’t.

I’m up, and Justin’s blinking in surprise, his hands steadying me. I sling my arm across his shoulders, trying to look casual. I smile through clenched teeth and we walk towards the door. Need air, need to get out of here. As we step outside I take a shuddering breath. Thank God we’re parked around the corner.

Justin fishes the keys out of my pocket and lowers me into the passenger seat of the ‘Vette, closing the door behind me. He hurries around and slides behind the wheel, and his palm is on my cheek.

“Do you need a doctor?”

I roll my eyes and open my mouth to make a sarcastic remark, but he cuts me off.

“Brian! Do you need a doctor?” His words are emphatic and he grasps my chin and makes me look at him.

“No, I just need to lie down,” I say, quietly.

He exhales a long breath and puts the keys in the ignition. “You know I can take care of myself. You didn’t need to—”

“I know.”

He looks at me and leans over, kisses me softly. “You don’t always have to be the hero.”

I press our foreheads together and nod slightly. He kisses me again and then starts the engine. As he clicks his belt into place, he says, “Do your seatbelt up.”

I snort and he looks at me with eyebrows raised. Fine, fine, no point in arguing. I reach behind me and start to pull the belt across, but the movement makes me gasp in pain. He takes the buckle from me and locks it in place.

Once we’re home, I heave myself out of the car, determined to do it on my own. But when I stand up, my knees buckle. He’s there, arms around me securely, leading me to the elevator. He lifts the gate with one hand and never lets go.

I keep forgetting how strong he is. I really should try to remember.


	4. Fills All the Hollow

Shit. Can’t find the ice pack. Where the fuck is the ice pack?

I look over at Brian in bed. He hasn’t said much since we came home, just let me undress him and then he laid down quietly.

Okay, it’s not like there’s a lot of stuff in the freezer that the ice pack could be hiding behind besides vodka. I slam the freezer door shut and the fridge rattles. I look in all the cabinets, just to see if I can find the fucking thing, and finally go back and grab the vodka after all.

The bed dips as I sit down and Brian’s eyes flicker open.

“Just what the doctor ordered,” he says.

I roll my eyes and crack the lid on the Smirnoff, tipping the bottle to his mouth. He takes a big gulp and lies back with a satisfied sound. Even though Brian’s drug and alcohol tolerance is probably higher than most aging rock stars’, I’m not letting him have too much. The percocet he gulped down when he thought I wasn’t looking will be more than enough to give him a good night’s sleep.

I wrap the vodka in a t-shirt and hold it to his side. He flinches with discomfort.

“Fuck, that’s cold!”

“I know, that’s the point.”

“To torture me?”

“Stop being such a drama queen, Brian.”

He scowls. “I need another drink.”

“You already had some pills, that should be more than enough,” I say, as I hold the bottle against him gently, making sure his skin doesn’t get too cold.

“I want both, Nurse Ratched.”

“Hey!” I reach around and lightly slap him on the ass. My hand barely touches him, but he flinches dramatically.

“I’m reporting you to the union. No wonder healthcare in this country is such a disgrace.”

I laugh and kiss him softly. We’re quiet for a few minutes and his eyes drift shut again. God, I can’t believe I ran into fucking Cody of all people. I wonder if he was there looking for me, or if it was a coincidence. Maybe he was looking for new recruits. He’s wasting his time at Babylon, everyone’s too busy fucking and sucking and getting high to care.

I don’t ever want to see him again. He makes me feel things I don’t want to feel.

I really thought I’d put all that rage behind me. I thought I’d gotten it all out, once and for all, that I was cleansed.

That I was free.

Then he pushed Brian down.

And I realized that it’s still there, whether I like it or not. The anger boiled up inside me like a fucking volcano and I swear to God, if I’d had a gun in my hand? I might have pulled the trigger. That scares me.

That scares the shit out of me.

I wonder if it’s always going to be there, if I’m always going to be a breath away from losing it if something bad happens. One day, am I going to flip out at some incompetent waiter? Try to drown him in the tomato soup I didn’t order?

It’s just…when I saw Brian hit the ground….

Cody was my friend. I know, it got fucked up at the end, but he was my friend, at least for a while. But I’d better not see his face again on Liberty Ave., he’d better stay the hell away from me. God, he’s such a hypocrite, I can’t believe I used to listen to his ranting and raving. I mean, the guy has guns. Plural.

“This Cody sure is stronger than he looks,” Brian says, snapping me back to attention. He’s watching me with knowing eyes.

“Yeah, he’s little, but he packs a punch.”

“Just like you.”

“I’m not like him!” I say, louder than I’d intended.

“No, you’re not.” Brian reaches up and touches my cheek. “You’re nothing like him. So don’t forget it.”

I take his hand in mine and hold it tightly. Brian may not always be good with words, but sometimes he knows just what to say.

“Okay, I’ve had enough of the vodkasicle.” He pushes the bottle away and shivers.

I uncap the lid and give him another sip.

“You’re getting soft on me.”

“For now,” I say, with a wink. He snorts and closes his eyes again.

I walk around to the other side of the bed, stripping down to my undies as I go, then grab the massage oil from the nightstand. Brian rubs my hand with it sometimes when I’ve been drawing too long. The oil heats up as you use it, and it feels like heaven.

“Here.” I give him my pillow to rest on and he rolls over a bit, still mostly propped up on his side. He winces, and then settles in. I rub the oil between my palms to heat it up before I stroke it softly on his shoulders. He hums quietly as I work, and I can feel him relax, finally.

It feels so good to be close to him again, to feel him, to smell him. I bend my head and lick up his spine slowly. God, he tastes good. His sweat, his scent, his everything.

His breath catches in surprise when he feels my tongue. I keep on licking and kissing, the massage oil forgotten now.

I want more.

I need more.

There’s a part of me that wants to just climb on top of him and slide inside, be a part of him again, never let him go. But I know he’s hurt, and I know that he only lets me top him at the best of times. So I keep on licking him, getting lower and lower.

I can tell that he’s getting hard, and he tenses up.

“Justin…”

I don’t answer, just keep on tasting him. I gently try to roll him onto his back, and he tenses up even more, hissing in pain.

“Brian, relax.” He’s definitely hard, and I reach out and caress him through his briefs. He won’t meet my eyes, just looks away.

He’s embarrassed, and fuck, I hate this goddamned disease.

I rub his dick and edge down his underwear, leaning down to kiss his hip. It’s been so long, and I know he needs this.

We both do.

I slowly take his underwear off, as if I’m dealing with an animal that will be startled by any sudden movements. His eyes are closed now, and his breathing is shallow. I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock, making him gasp and bite his lip.

I’m about to take him in my mouth when I see the scar on his stomach. It’s low, just above his leg, and I realize that he hasn’t let me see him naked since it happened. Since the surgery. I hate even thinking that word.

I hate that I wasn’t there, that he kept it from me.

My tongue traces the angry pink line and Brian jolts to life, grabbing my shoulder and pushing me away.

“Don’t,” he says, panting.

“Brian, it’s okay.” I take his hand from my shoulder and kiss his palm. “It’s okay.” I look into his eyes, trying to tell him all my heart that I love him and that I don’t care about some stupid scar, I don’t care that he’s got a fake testicle now.

I don’t fucking care.

“It’s okay,” I say again, as I lean back down and kiss the scar gently, kiss every inch of it. I look back up at him, and he’s watching me, eyes troubled.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I say, and then swallow his cock down to the root.

He groans with pleasure as my head slowly moves back up, my tongue tracing up the underside of his shaft. I move down to his balls, and I give just as much attention to them both. His fingers are in my hair now, which is just barely long enough for him to clutch at again.

God, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed the little sound he makes when I’m sucking him, that he doesn’t make for anyone else. Well, not that I’ve heard, anyway.

He’s panting out shallow breaths, and his hips arch up. I take his cock in my mouth again and when I start to hum he shoots down my throat with a shout. He calls my name, and comes for a long time. I swallow it all eagerly, desperate for the taste of him again.

He lies back, his hands slack at his sides, eyes closed. I shift up beside him, and quickly strip my Jockeys off. I’m so hard, this won’t take long. I start moving my fist up and down, but then I feel Brian’s hand on mine.

“Brian, it’s okay, I can do it. You rest now.”

He says nothing, just starts jerking me off. He’s tired, though, and I know his ribs are hurting him. But I know he has his pride. I lean in and kiss him, sliding my tongue into his mouth. As I do, I place my hand over his on my cock, moving it up and down faster.

He pulls back and we stare at each other as I piston my hips up into his palm, my hand still wrapped around his, helping him. I kiss him again and when he sucks my tongue into his mouth, I shudder and it’s all over. I collapse, resting my head beside his on the pillow. We just stay there, our fingers still twined together, covered in my drying come.

He opens his eyes and for a moment, I’m afraid he’ll be mad at me.

“Well, your bedside manner certainly makes up for your stinginess with the Smirnoff,” he says, as he rubs our noses together.

I laugh and sigh and sleep without dreams.


	5. Weary Have Life

It feels like I’ve only been asleep for minutes when the loft door opens and shuts with a clang. I think about calling out his name, but sleep pulls me back down and then I’m thinking about rabbits hopping around Babylon while my sixth-grade teacher Mrs. Tucker pole dances.

“Oh!”

My eyes open reluctantly to see Jennifer standing awkwardly at the top of the steps.

“Brian, I thought you were at work. Justin gave me the key, I’m just dropping off his easel.”

I grunt in response. I am supposed to be at work, but I only stayed for an hour before telling Cynthia and Ted to handle things. Theodore’s turned out to be quite the fast learner. Funny, since it usually takes him forever to catch on where everything else is concerned.

Radiation’s done, but the doc said I should still be taking it easy. I guess I haven’t exactly been following orders, and today the exhaustion feels as bad as it did a couple of weeks ago when they were still frying me.

“I was just going to use the bathroom,” she says, motioning to it.

I grunt again and close my eyes, willing her to leave. Then a cool hand is on my forehead, and I’m forced to look at her. She peers down, brow furrowed, and I weakly bat her hand away.

“Are you sick?”

Well, there’s the $64,000 question. They say they caught it in time. That everything will be fine. But still, I wonder.

And wait.

“Have you been to a doctor? Maybe it’s that flu that’s going around.” She’s still there, hovering over me, concerned.

“I’m fine.” My voice is scratchy and weak. Must sleep. Just need to sleep.

She sighs and clucks her tongue impatiently. “Have you taken anything? Tylenol Cold? Neo Citran? Let me see what you have…” She goes into the bathroom and my protest is nothing more than a strangled whimper.

Christ, now I know where he gets it from.

When she comes back, her eyes are wide and a pill bottle is clutched tightly in her hand. “Take one to two following radiation treatment, no more than four a day,” she reads.

Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag.

She’s standing there, staring at me like I’m on my fucking deathbed, pity oozing out of every pore. “I’m fine,” I say, only half-convinced myself.

“Brian—”

“I need to sleep.” I’m dropping off, and my words sound slightly slurred.

“Brian, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Justin tell me?”

“I’m fine,” I repeat.

She puts her hand on her hip and shakes her head. “Well, whether you like it or not, we’re family. You should have told me...let me help.”

“I don’t need your help, I’m fine.”

She comes closer and bends down, putting a hand on my arm. “You really are the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.”

I try to respond, but I can’t. My eyes drift shut, and I’m gone.

***

The hospital corridor is stark in its whiteness. Everything seems to glow, and I blink, wishing I had my sunglasses. Jennifer sits beside me, her face streaked with tears.

Oh god, don’t let him be dead. I’ll do anything.

Anything.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” I ask.

She doesn’t look at me, just keeps on crying.

“Jennifer?” I try to reach out to touch her shoulder, but my arm isn’t working right, I can’t raise it high enough.

Vic walks over, and pulls me up. “It’s time, Brian.”

“Time for what?” As we walk down the hall, I look back to see Jennifer still weeping silently.

We’re in the diner now, but it still feels like a hospital. A body lies on a gurney in front of the counter, draped in a sheet, and god, no, no, no, no, no. He can’t be dead. It’s not right, this isn’t right. I try to tell Vic that, but my tongue won’t form the words.

This is all wrong.

Vic lifts back the sheet, and I brace myself for blood matted in blonde hair.

But it’s my mother lying there, skin grey and ashen. Her eyes open, unseeing, her mouth forming a voiceless protest.

I bolt up in bed, heart racing. As I take a shuddering breath, the image of my mother swims before me and tears prick my eyes.

***

When he comes home, it’s getting dark. I sit on the couch. Waiting. He takes his shoes and coat off and slides to a stop when he notices me.

“Hey,” he says. He’s hesitant. Comes a bit closer. “You okay?”

“Your mother stopped by.” I imbue the word ‘mother’ with every ounce of venom I can muster.

“Oh, were you here? I thought she was coming around lunch.” He gets close, hand reaching out to brush my hair back. “Are you feeling okay? Did you come home early?"

I slap his hand away. Hard.

“Jesus, Brian! I see you’re feeling better.”

I do not appreciate his tone. “Why the fuck did you give your mother the key to my loft?”

He stands in front of me, that irritating look on his face. That confused, innocent-victim expression. “She was cleaning some stuff out of storage and she found my old easel. She was busy tonight, so I gave her the spare key to drop it off. I thought you’d be at work. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that I don’t want fucking mothers dropping by!”

He crosses his arms. “Like I said, I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Well I was.”

“Well, okay. I’m sorry.” He sighs and sits down on the other end of the couch, giving me a wide berth. For a few minutes, we sit in silence, the light from the windows fading.

“Feeling better?” He asks.

No, of course I’m not feeling better, because now I feel fucking guilty for yelling at him. I shrug. We’re quiet again, and a faint pink glow fills the room, before receding into the night.

“When did you see your mother?”

I meet his eyes, and he’s just watching me patiently.

How the fuck does he do that?

“Was it yesterday? What did she say?”

I don’t want to talk about it. Yet the words come anyway, and I’m too tired to stop them. “Nothing. Just the usual – I’m a sinner, I’ve brought this on myself, I’m going to hell, yada, yada, yada. God’s giving me a second chance, so I need to give up dick.”

Justin’s jaw tightens and his fist clenches. “What did you say to her?”

“That I’d spend eternity in hell rather than one day with her in heaven.”

He smirks. “Good for you.” His hand has made its way to my cheek and he strokes it gently. I lean into his touch, and he scoots closer. Before I know it, my head’s on his shoulder and god, he’s so warm and soft. The sun has set, and I close my eyes to the gathering shadows.

“Your mother’s a sad woman.” He kisses my forehead and holds me.

“Yeah.” I try not to let her get to me, but she does. Every time. “But yours…yours is…she’s...good.”

“I know, I’m pretty lucky.”

“Yeah. Although she fucking cleaned while I was sleeping. Next thing I know she’ll be over here every night and you’ll be dueling it out in the kitchen to see who can make the best chicken soup. Christ.”

Justin pulls back a bit and I open my eyes to see him looking down at me. “You told her?”

“She saw some of the pills. You should probably call her later to explain. I was too tired.”

He nods. “But you’re feeling better now, right?”

“Yeah.” Amazing what an extra five hours of sleep can achieve. “But your mother really doesn’t need to be worrying about me.”

He laughs. “Brian, the day you can control what my mother worries about will be a cold day in hell.”

“Well, hopefully we’ll have a few of those. I’d hate to just sweat for all of eternity.”

“I’m sure the devil likes to mix things up. Keep us on our toes,” he says. I sit up and he grins. “At least we know hell will interesting.”

I chuckle. “And at least we’ll have each other.”

Shit, why did I say that? I must be pretty damn tired still. His grin gets even wider, and uh oh, he’s got that sappy look in his eyes. I kiss him before he can say anything, and his lips part under mine. I sweep my tongue into his mouth and we kiss like a couple of fucking school kids, sitting on the couch in the dark.

When I pull away to take a breath, he kisses my cheek. Then the other, and then my nose and my forehead and my eyes and I wrap my arms around him and hold him tight.

We sit for a while longer, and then he gets up to turn on some lights and the TV. We order pizza, arguing the whole time about putting artichoke hearts on it. Well, excuse me for trying to broaden his horizons.

Him and his cheese with pepperoni.

When I fall asleep again, my head’s in his lap, and his fingers glide through my hair softly. He laughs at a stupid sitcom, and I think that tomorrow night, we’re definitely getting the artichokes.


	6. That Thought's Return

As I drop the bags of groceries at my feet and reach back to slide the door shut, I notice Brian at his desk, hurriedly putting something away in a drawer. He closes it and slips what looks like a key into his pocket.

“Oh, hey. I thought you were going to Woody’s with Michael.”

“Mikey had to cancel, something came up with the new boy wonder.” He comes over and kisses me, picks up the groceries and takes them into the kitchen.

The silver lock on the top drawer gleams, the key missing. He never locks the desk. Never. I know, because I used to snoop through it when I was young and stupid. There was never anything more interesting than pens and Liquid Paper and advertising stuff. So, what’s he hiding from me?

Because he’s definitely hiding it, he had the look of someone caught in the act when I walked in. But caught doing what? It can’t be porn, he sure as hell wouldn’t keep that from me. He’d be more likely to show it to me while he fucks me.

“Did you get any chocolate?”

I turn and Brian’s watching me. He looks apprehensive. Or is it my imagination? Could just be that there’s nothing in that drawer I need to see. “What?”

“Chocolate. Did you get any?”

I laugh, confused. “Since when do you eat chocolate?” He just shrugs and goes back to the groceries.

I look back at the desk.

 

***

This morning, I knew. It can only be one thing.

He’s sick again.

Or, he’s sick still. Whatever. It’s the only thing that he would want to hide. I imagine a file folder, thick with test results, with medical terminology I can’t understand. All saying the one thing I can’t accept.

It’s still locked. The key is nowhere to be found, and I can’t force it open without Brian knowing. I pace around the loft, the worst-case scenarios unspooling in my mind. When he comes home, I try to act normal.

“How was school?” He heads to the bedroom, taking his tie off as he goes.

“Fine,” I lie.

He’s just taken his shirt off when I wrap my arms around him from behind and press my cheek against his back. He can’t be sick again. He can’t.

“So, I was thinking—”

I spin him around and kiss him, hard, cutting off his words. His mouth opens and my tongue attacks his as I push him onto the bed, landing on top of him. As I grind down onto him, he moans into my mouth and when I finally break away, we’re both panting for air.

We haven’t had sex since before the surgery, not really. Some blowjobs and a few jerk-offs, but we’ve been taking it slowly.

Fuck slow.

I pull my sweater off over my head and he runs his hands up my chest. His lips are parted and his cock is getting hard beneath me. I need him inside me. I need to be close.

Because then I can hold on.

I roll off him and shrug out of my jeans. I’m naked in seconds, and he’s still pulling down his underwear. I tug it out of his hands and free of his legs before yanking his socks off. I swallow his cock, and his fingers grasp my head. I suck him feverishly, my head moving up and down, my tongue swirling.

“Justin…” His voice is low and my name is a moan.

When I sit up suddenly, he groans in frustration. But I don’t care. I reach for a condom and put it in his hand as we kiss again, tongues winding around each other. I lick and nip at his neck and my hands roam over his body. He rips the package open as I flip onto my stomach. God, I need this. I rub my cock into the mattress and lick my lips in anticipation.

But then his hand is on my shoulder, and he rolls me back to face him. His body covers mine and he looks down at me, holds my face between his hands. He kisses me softly. Then he’s sucking my tongue into his mouth and he bites my lip and it’s all tongues and teeth and spit and I don’t think I can ever get enough of him.

Never.

He lifts my legs up onto his shoulders, and his cock presses into me. When he finally slides all the way in, we both groan in pleasure. He thrusts in and out and I pull his head down for another kiss. My cock is pressed between us, hard and throbbing. I lick the line of sweat that drips down Brian’s forehead and he gets even deeper.

“Harder,” I say, and he grunts as he slams into me. “Don’t ever stop, don’t ever stop. Oh god, Brian…” I don’t even know what I saying, the words just spill out. Our bodies are slick and straining and we writhe together, his cock pounding into me.

I practically start whimpering as he hits my prostate over and over again. I can't last much longer, and when he grabs my cock I come, my ass clenching down around him. He jerks a couple more times and says my name.

He collapses on top of me and my legs slide down. Our chests heave, and his face is pressed into my neck, his breath warm. I wrap my arms around his back, holding him to me. I could just stay like this forever, I think. After a few minutes, he moves to slide all the way out of me, but I clasp my arms tighter. He lifts his head.

“Just stay,” I say, quietly.

He kisses me gently and plays with my hair. “I’m not going anywhere.” His lips touch mine again and he presses kisses on my jaw and neck.

"Promise?"

He nods, and his lips rest on the pulse in my throat.

“Don’t lie, Brian.”

His head snaps up, his brow furrowed. “What?”

“When are you going to tell me?” I can’t keep pretending. I have to know.

“Tell you what?” He pulls away from me, rolling onto his side, watching me quizzically.

“I know you’re hiding it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He’s getting irritated now.

“The desk. What’s in there? A letter from the doctor? More test results? You wouldn’t hide it if it wasn’t bad.”

He grabs a cigarette and sits up. “Jesus, can’t I have something in my own fucking desk without you giving me the third degree?” He lights the smoke and takes a long drag. “I told you, I’m fine. I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

I sit up, heart pounding. “Would you? You didn’t before, and—”

“I’d tell you.” He’s looking at me, eyes serious. He takes another puff and turns away, a cloud of smoke drifting into the air. He looks back. “I promise.”

I take a shuddering breath. I know he’s not lying, because Brian’s actually a very bad liar when it comes down to it.

He’s not sick.

Relief floods my veins and I flop back on the bed. “I just thought…I was worried. I’m sorry.”

He butts out his cigarette and shakes his head ruefully. “You really are a twat sometimes.”

“I know.” I really am. “Wait, so what’s in the drawer that you don’t want me to see?”

He yanks his underwear on and gets up. “Christ, don’t you ever learn? It’s nothing, just forget it.” He stalks into the kitchen and I follow.

“Brian, it’s going to bug me, you have to tell me.” I know I’m whining, but I don’t care. He looks at me incredulously and finally grabs his briefcase with a grunt of disgust. He takes the key out and walks over to the desk, unlocking the drawer. He yanks it open and pulls a book out, dropping it unceremoniously onto the desk with a thump.

As I get closer, I see that it’s a photo album. As I open the cover, I look up at Brian in surprise. He rolls his eyes and sighs. It’s an old-fashioned one, the kind you glue the pictures into with those little triangles on the corners. I flip the pages and smile.

It’s all Gus, from the night he was born until last week, at Lindsay’s birthday party. Some of the pictures have Brian in them, and I recognize a few. There are still pages left to fill, but I’m sure there won’t be a shortage of pictures taken over the next few years.

I look up at Brian. “Why would you hide this?” He shrugs and examines a pen. “Brian, he’s your son. You’re allowed to have pictures of him.” I laugh and shake my head. Only Brian would be embarrassed about making a photo album of his own son.

“I know. Just forget it.” He puts the pen down and crosses his arms.

The drawer has glue and a baggie filled with more triangles. I imagine him sitting here, carefully choosing the pictures and gluing them in. I put the album back in the drawer and close it. “You’re a twat, too, you know that?”

“I guess we’re even,” he says.

I take a step and kiss him lightly. “Yeah, I guess we are.” God, I’m relieved. I should have known. He’s not sick, he’s just…Brian.

 

***

When I come home the next day, I can hear Gus laughing happily from inside the loft. I slide the door open to find him and Brian playing on the floor in the middle of the living room. The sun streams through the windows, and I think about drawing the scene later.

“Hey, look who’s here! Is that Gus I spy with my little eye?” I drop my bag and shrug out of my jacket as he comes barreling towards me. I pick him up and man, he’s getting heavy.

Gus kisses me and mangles my name. I hug him tightly and walk into the living room, depositing him back on the floor.

“Hey,” Brian says as he gets up. “Gus is going to stay for the weekend. Lindsay needs a break.”

Gus has picked up his toy truck and is happily making zooming noises around my feet. “For the whole weekend?” This is unusual.

“Yeah. You don’t have to stay. I mean, I understand if—”

“Of course I’m staying. It’ll be great, right Gus?” I plop down beside him and grab one of the other toys.

“Okay.” Brian smiles and then looks away quickly. “I just need to go check my email, can you watch him for a bit?”

“Sure.” I play trucks with Gus for a while, and then I get his crayons and a colouring book out. At first, he just scribbles madly, and I try to show him how to stay inside the lines. We’re both concentrating on the Superman figure when I realize that Brian’s taking pictures of us.

I look up, laughing. “Hey! You could warn me, you know.” Brian just grins and then sets the camera on the table, looking through the viewfinder. He presses a button and joins us on the floor.

“Smile for the camera,” he says. But when the timer goes off, we’re looking at each other.

 

***

“Gus! Be careful.” Brian’s got his stern face on, and Gus glances at us from the top of the ladder on the slide at the indoor playground. He nods earnestly and sits down before whooshing to the bottom.

“You know the floor’s like, foam, or something.” I sip on my Coke as I finish my fries.

“Better safe than sorry. The last thing I need is for him to get hurt, the munchers would never let me hear the end of it.”

Gus had been so excited to come to Ducky McDuck’s, and shows no sign of tiring out. The place is almost closed, and only a couple of other kids are in the big playground. Brian and I sit at a table watching, a few other parents on the far side of the almost-deserted sitting area.

“At least he’ll tire himself out,” I say.

Brian sighs. “Until he gets his second wind around 10.” His hand is on mine on the table, and he plays with my fingers idly.

“I didn’t realize one kid could have _that_ much energy.” The weekend has been spent trying to keep up with him, and part of me will be glad when he goes back to Mel and Lindsay’s tomorrow. But the other part of me is really going to miss him.

“Imagine what your mother went through.” He arches his eyebrow. “You must have been a nightmare.”

I slap his arm. “Shut up, I was not.” I drain my drink with a loud slurp on the straw. “Okay, I totally was.”

He smirks. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

I slap him again and get up to go to the bathroom. When I get back, the other parents and kids are gone, and Brian’s shoes are sitting by our table beside Gus’s. They're together in the big bin of multi-coloured balls, laughing.

“Brian, only kids are allowed in there,” I call out.

He picks Gus up and climbs up onto the big trampoline. “So what are you waiting for?”

Giggling, I slide my shoes off and enter the playground, weaving my way through a rubbery castle towards them. Brian is holding Gus’s hands and they’re bouncing up and down, Gus laughing and squealing with joy.

I stop for a minute to watch them. Then I leap onto the trampoline, and fly.


End file.
